


stalled out

by dethgarbage



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: (s), Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Voyeurism, jackin off, post-doomstar, referenced pickles/magnus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:39:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29151354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dethgarbage/pseuds/dethgarbage
Summary: murderface is trapped in the bathroom stall next to pickles and nathan .. he doesn't do a very good job keeping it together.
Relationships: Nathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer, Nathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer/William Murderface, Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Toki Wartooth, William Murderface/Pickles the Drummer, William Murderface/Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Toki Wartooth
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	stalled out

**Author's Note:**

> this is how I cope w trauma LOL pls enjoy

Murderface is sitting on the toilet in a bar bathroom stall, scrolling through his FaceFriends feed and trying to avoid his stupid dickhead bandmates. He’s so fucking sick of his friends shoving their gay gayness in his face - tonight was supposed to be about HIM. He released a single for Planet Piss, and they were all supposed to be paying attention to him, worshipping _him_ , but...

All Toki and Skwisgaar wanna do is fucking cuddle and grope each other. Murderface tolerated Skwisgaar’s hand up the back of Toki’s shirt at their booth, merely rolling his eyes. He barely complained when the two of them kept making their stupid googly eyes at each other. But then Toki got a few drinks in him, and everyone knows that a drunk Toki equals a horny Toki. That’s when things started spiraling. 

Skwisgaar really did try to stay composed and continue their civilized conversation about ass versus tits, but Toki was too far gone to show mercy. His rough hand slid up and down the Swede’s thigh, he brushed blonde hair off his neck before leaning in and pressing fluttering kisses to the exposed skin. Nathan and Pickles were both too drunk and deep in the debate to care (Pickles is a tits man, Nathan is an ass man), but Murderface was not nearly intoxicated enough to deal with the way Toki grabbed Skwisgaar’s hand and slid it towards his own crotch. 

“Toki,” Skwisgaar murmured, trying weakly to tell the brunette to back off, but their rhythm guitarist was too drunk and thirsty for ass to care. He leaned in, whispering something in Skwisgaar’s ear, squeezed his thigh again. The blonde’s entire body straightened up, blue eyes wide as he looked at him, “Reallies? You...euuhh. You lets me does thats?” 

Toki hummed in assent, smiling wolfishly as a piece of hair fell in his face, “But ams a limiteds time offers.” 

“Alrights, you wins,” Skwisgaar huffed, eyes glinting with a turned on deviousness. He stood up dramatically, clearly turned on as he announced, “Wes will be backs.” 

“HEY!” Murderface pointed at them as they made their way out of the booth. “NO! Thisch is schupposed to be MY NIGHT! We’re—!” 

“We wills be rights back, Williams,” Skwisgaar waved a hurried hand at him flippantly. He winked, “Unless you wants to comes with.” 

“Ja, Moidaface! We makes it worth your whiles...” Drunk Toki purred at him, a hand landing on his knee that Murderface instantly knocked away in a flustered horror. “You cans be in the middles!” 

This got Pickles’ and Nathan’s attention - they both burst into laughter, as Murderface’s entire face turned red. He squeaked, “N-NO! WHAT THE FUCK! I DONT—!” 

“Aw, dood. He’d like, totally love to ‘n all, but he’s already gonna be a lil’ tied up with me ‘n Nate’n,” Pickles wiggled an eyebrow at him, and Murderface choked on his own tongue as he threw a flustered hand over his eyes to try and hide his flaming embarrassment. 

“FUCK YOU GUYSCH! YOURE SO FUCKING GAY!” Murderface moaned, slamming up from the table and storming into the bathroom as his bandmates all laughed at his heterosexual expense. Who knew he’d be living in a timeline where he’s sent spiraling into disfigured isolation for being straight! Because he is! He’s as straight as they come, yeah! He slams into one of the stalls, throws himself down onto the closed toilet with his feet curled up, and he tries to calm down. 

So now here he sits, scrolling through social media, still internally raging. God, the idea of having a threeway with either of those stupid fucking couples makes him want to rip his brain out of his head in chunks. He tries not to think about any of their sex lives, but they’re always throwing it in his face, and sometimes, he can’t help but think about-

_Toki fawning all over him like he was with Skwisgaar out there - his perfect fucking abs underneath Murderface’s sliding hands, kissing his chest as he stands in front of him and roughly palms the bassist’s crotch. He knows Toki has gotta be rough, gotta be almost feral when he gets lost to passion like how he does with violence. He can remember the way he looked at him over his shoulder at the last Snakes 'n Barrels concert - eyes manic and muscular arms slicked in blood - and he thinks about Toki looking down at him like that, but lustfully, like he wants to tear him apart._

_ By contrast,Skwisgaar is so calm and experienced - he’d just slide up behind Murderface, get those long fingers on him and take him apart methodically. His full lips would press kisses to his shoulder, sticky sweet words whispered in his ear - but not in a nice way. In a haughty, demeaning, humiliating way - and then he’d bend Murderface into Toki’s crotch and go to town on his ass. He’d be the middle of a goddamn guitarist spitroast - Toki cooing above him, Skwisgaar moaning behind him... _

_ “Oh, Moidaface...looks at you takes dis shit...” Toki would gasp, as Murderface sucks his dick, the brunette’s fingers running up his face and through his hair. He’d pop off to say something snarky, but Skwisgaar would slap his ass, snapping, “You bettors be suckingks over theres! Don’t makes me does it myskelf!”  _

_ And he would do it himself, later - Murderface would watch as Skwisgaar expertly sucks Toki’s dick, full lips sucking and kissing against the long shaft. Toki would have fistfuls of golden hair harshly clutched in his hands, pathetic moans pouring out of him as he rocks upwards like a dumb animal into the Swede’s hot mouth, and— _

“Oh my GOD,” Murderface drops his burning face into his hands, because what the fuck is he thinking!? He’s not gay! He—

The door to the bathroom slams open, and he squeaks silently as he curls his feet up tighter to his chest. He’s having a crisis, thank you, so he’s not trying to be bothered! Especially because he suspects he has a boner from all these guitarist spitroast thoughts, but he’s too afraid to even check. 

“Dude, I don’t see ‘im in here,” Pickles’ voice says, and Murderface squeezes his eyes shut as he tugs at his own curly hair anxiously. “Meybe he really did go ‘n have a threeway with ‘em.” 

God, as if! Nathan's voice is hesitantly awkward, as he says, "Hey. So, uh. Looks like he's not in here." 

Pickles doesn't say anything out loud, but Murderface can practically see the slow raise of one of his pierced eyebrows. Nathan continues, voice still nervous,  "Yeah....this whole bathroom, uhhh. Is empty, it seems." 

"Thet's what it looks like." 

“Then, yknow. Everyone else is...uhhhhh. Busy,” Nathan’s low voice is a mere rumble, and a thin curtain of horror suddenly washes over Murderface as it finally clicks for both him and Pickles what their frontman is getting at.

“Oooh, yeah, Nate?” Pickles purrs, sneakers squeaking against the floor as he sidles up to the frontman. “You’re tryna get busy too?"

Murderface would bet a krillion dollars that Nathan is blushing, as he grinds out, “Uh. Maybe.” 

“Y’wanna get it ahn in the fuckin’ bar bathroom, like a lil’ groupie _slut_ ,” Pickles’ voice is dripping with drunken seduction, and Nathan growls again before the sound of loud, wet kissing fills Murderface’s ears. 

Holy fucking shit. For one thing - Pickles just called Nathan a slut and got away with it. If it was anyone else in the world, they’d be dead in seconds. Did it turn Nathan on, to be talked to like that? It had slipped out of Pickles’ mouth so easily...Murderface thinks about the two of them in the bedroom, Pickles bent over a blissed-out Nathan and whispering in his ear, _“Yeeeahh, y’like thet, y’fuckin’ whore? Y’aint nothin’ but a dirty slut, huh Nate’n?”_

For a second thing - they’re about to fuck in this bathroom. It’s too late for Murderface to try and escape, because then they’d see him and probably slaughter him, so he’s gonna have to power through his whole thing. Which he really doesn’t want to, because, yknow, it’s Pickles. He’s the exception to the rule - his stupid man crush for over two decades. It’s not fun hearing him get fucked by someone else, which he can bitterly say he’s experienced too many times to count. Murderface has been around through Pickles and Tony, and Pickles and Magnus - which was worse, he remembers with a grimace. Their drummer has never been subtle or quiet about his boning. 

“Aahh, yeah...right there, Nate’n...bite it...” 

Bite it?! Bite what?? Murderface strains to listen, hearing lips sucking against skin, Pickles making his soft little “nyyehhh” mewls. It’s his neck, Murderface realizes - when he was with Magnus, his neck would always be smattered with violently angry bite marks. The little fucker must like it like that, and Murderface doesn’t have to wonder if he has a boner now because he feels it absolutely throbbing. 

“Get into a stall,” Nathan fucking death growls, and Murderface straightens up at the deadliness of the command. Holy fuck, that should not be that hot, and—! Murderface silently smacks a hand against his sweaty forehead, feeling twitchy and weird and so fucking horny it hurts. You know what? This is fine. It’s not his fault that he’s stuck in this situation, so whatever reactions his mind or dick has is out of his control.

They stumble into the stall next to his, and a slamming sound indicates that Nathan’s got Pickles against the closed door. The sound of a zipper rips through the air, fabric rustling. Pickles is still whining, as he huffs out with a breathy laugh, “Gahd, Nate. What happens if a fan walks in, huh? What’s Offdenson gonna say when the pictures of you fuckin’ yer drummer get out?” 

“I hope someone  does come in. I want everyone to know who your ass belongs to.” He pauses, spits, and if the gasp from Pickles indicates anything, Murderface can assume Nathan has started jacking their drummer off. “ME. It belongs to me.” 

“Mmmfh, Nate...” Pickles whimpers, and there it is, the sticky sound of skin on skin audible, “Yyeeahh, babe, ooohhhh....” 

“I’m barely fucking touching you, Pickles. You want it that bad?” Nathan purrs, and Murderface’s eyes bug out of his skull as he watches Nathan’s knees hit the floor in the stall next to him. Wasn’t going down on someone the frontman’s worst nightmare? Murderface never even would’ve imagined he’d be willing to do that to Pickles, but sure enough, the sound of slurping and licking and Pickles' pitch-perfect whining is a dead giveaway that Nathan is going to town down there. 

“Oooohhhh, Nate’n, fuuuck....” Pickles moans breathily, “Yeeeah, yeeeahh, jest like that....oooohhh babeeee, fuck yeeah...” 

The fucking mouth on him - it’s just like how Murderface remembered, back when he’d lay stiffly in bed and try not to listen to Magnus loudly fucking Pickles in the room next door to his own. Inevitably, the drummer’s keens and breathless profanities would always be too much to ignore - and he was ashamed to admit it for many reasons, but he’d usually jack off in tandem. It’s like watching porn, yeah. And there’s no harm in jacking off to porn so long as you’re not actively participating, right? Maybe it’s muscle memory, because when he hears Pickles moaning and groaning in the stall next to him his hand flies to his straining erection, palming it through his shorts. 

“I-I’m, ooohhhh! Ooohh! Fuck! Nate!” Pickles gasps, foot making a sound as it kicks against what sounds like the toilet paper dispenser, and Nathan pops off his dick loudly. 

“God, you’re such a slut,” Nathan huffs, cracking his jaw. “So fucking hot.” 

Murderface almost hums in agreement, working his palm over his dick. He needs to wait for them to get loud again to undo his zipper, and his brain is so fogged up with lust that he barely even goes spiraling into a crisis over the fact that he’s really about to do this. Pickles and Magnus was one thing - he’d always had a crush on Pickles, and he fucking hated Magnus, so it really wasn’t that weird to use them to get off. But Nathan? He was his friend, their leader, someone he looked up to—

Nathan’s jeans hit the floor at the same time he yanks the pants off of Pickles with a ravenous growl, and any reservations Murderface had been having fly right out the window. He deftly gets his zipper down, silently pulling his dick out of his pants and thumbing at the wet head - just in time for Nathan and Pickles to start smacking lips again in earnest. 

“Doood, we don’t—we don’t gaht any lubeee,” Pickles whines between kisses. He sounds almost hysterical, and it’s as hot as it is pathetic, “Y’gahtta fuck me, Nate! We need fuckin’ lube! Maybe Toki ‘n Skwisgaar—?” 

“Uhhhhhh,” Nathan racks his pea-sized brain for some sort of solution. “I think I have some on the bus...but Toki and Skwisgaar are in there. Probably fucking....with Murderface. Gross.” 

Murderface glares, taking a moment to be offended as he flicks off the stall wall that separates them. His dick, however, reminds him that it’s in desperate need of attention - he goes back to putting pressing on it, bottom lip chewed ravenously underneath his teeth. They better fucking figure something out, because he refuses to get blue balls in this shitty bar bathroom. 

“Oh, dood! Wait,” Pickles’ hand snatches his jeans off the floor, and he rustles around for a few seconds before chucking madly. “Fuck yes! They gave me a sample packet o’ lube when I got yer ass plug, ‘n I stuck it in my wallet.” 

Murderface has to throw a hand over his mouth to keep from either screaming or bursting into laughter. Nathan Explosion has a fucking ass plug?! He waits for the singer to deny that he shoves anything up his ass, that butt plugs aren’t metal - but he merely rumbles out a “brutal,” and that’s it. Wow. Murderface...isn’t sure how to compartmentalization this information. Luckily, he doesn’t have time to think about it, because he listens to the sound of the packet being ripped open, and lube sliding over skin. 

“Save some fer yer cock, dood,” Pickles murmurs. “Yer fingers alone are so fuckin’ big...”

“Mmmph,” Nathan grunts - Murderface isn’t sure how a noise so primitive can convey lust as well as it does - and one of Pickles’ legs is hefted off the ground, skin slides against skin, and Pickles is back to whining. Murderface slowly jerks himself off, closing his eyes as he listens to Pickles’ obscene noises, mixing with the sounds of skin squelching. He can picture it now - Nathan scowling in concentration, face flushed, biting his bottom lip as his fingers work in and out of their drummer. Pickles, jaw dropped and pierced eyebrows furrowed and freckled leg lifted up by black-polished fingers. 

“Ahhh,” he huffs, head making a sound as it knocks back against the stall door. “Feels so good, Nate’n...” 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Nathan groans, and Murderface has to swallow back his own moan as his dick violently twitches in his hand. Instead of thinking about Nathan being the one to turn Pickles into a keening, begging mess, he imagines the redhead is here in his stall with him. Murderface is the one shoving him against the door, making him whimper, and his fingers are the ones pushing in and out of him. He’d lean in and kiss him, make him take it like a bitch - play with his tongue stud, his free hand reaching down to torturously tease his dick...

“Nate’n, I-I— oh ,” Pickles sighs desperately, as Murderface squeezes his eyes shut and internally groans right along with him. “Mmm, one more, babe...” 

Nathan grunts, and Murderface wonders how many fingers he’s got in there. A tremor rakes through the bassist’ body because Nathan Explosion sounds...desperate, as his deep voice breathes out, “I need to fuck you, Pickles...”

“I think...” Pickles makes a little satisfied noise, sighing, “Think I’m ready.” 

The lube packet crinkles, skin rubs on skin. The two of them shuffle around over there - Pickles’ other left lifts up off the floor. The frontman must be have his drummer’s legs around his waist, or maybe both of them held up as his hips pin him to the door. The idea of either positions sends Murderface burning with lust. Pickles must still have some of that rockstar flexibility in him...and oh god, if he thinks about Snakes ‘n Barrels Pickles right now then this is going to be over all too quick. 

“You sure I stretched you enough?” Nathan mumbles, sounding uncharacteristically caring, and Murderface’s eyes pop open in annoyance. If he’s going to jack off to them fucking, he doesn’t really have a right to be jealous. But still. 

“Yeah, haney. You ain’t gonna hurt me,” Pickles’ voice is dripping with affection, and the sound of kissing fills the room. Murderface rolls his eyes, sticking out his tongue. He’s here for the fucking, not the gooey romantic shit. Luckily, Nathan must start sliding it in - Pickles gasps, then lets out this long, reedy, orgasmically musical whine that nearly makes Murderface cum right there. 

“Mmmph, yeah,” Nathan growls, so low that it’s almost inaudible. “There we go...” 

“Ooooohhhhh Nate’n,” Pickles gasps, sounding as fucked up as Murderface feels. Pickles’ back thumps loudly against the door once, then twice, then two more times. Pickles isn’t taking this, apparently, as he starts groaning, “Cahmmaan, dood..." 

"I wanna hear you beg for it," Nathan purrs, that deep growling voice dripping with lust, and Murderface barely shoves the needy noise back that tries pushing out of his throat. _You and me both, Nate,_ he thinks, suddenly very eager to hear Pickles all desperate to get fucked, and their drummer doesn't disappoint. 

"Y'gahtta fuck me, babe, _please_..." Pickles' voice is husky, throat a little scratchy from all the moaning and whining, and it's impossibly hot. "I need it so fuckin' bad, Nate'n, jest-jest _give it to me_...hard as you can goooOOOO-" 

Murderface nearly jumps in surprise, as Nathan starts fucking Pickles so hard against the door that the stall literally starts shaking on its hinges. Nathan is grunting and growling, and his voice trembles as he death growls out, “F-Fuck, _Pickles_ \--"

“Ooohhhh! Yeeeah, dude! Yeeeaahh! Fuckin’ fuck me, Nate! Oh _gahd_!" 

“Say--” Nathan cuts himself off with a brutal growl, hips pounding so hard that Murderface can feel the vibrations where he sits and fervently jacks himself off. He snarls dangerously, “Say you’re _mine,_ Pickles.” 

“I’m yers, babe, aaaaall fuckin’ yers--" Pickles makes another one of those high musical whines, foot knocking the toilet paper dispenser onto the ground as his voice raises several octaves, " _Nate'n Nate'n Nate'n_ right fucking _there--!_ "

“Yeah, that’s right,” Nathan huffs, feet shifting as his stance changes somehow, and Pickles makes this shocked gasping noise like he's dying. “Fuck, right there, huh? You like that?” 

“Oh my fuckin' gahd..." Pickles moans loudly, back never ceasing to pound against the door. "Dood, lemme--sit the fuck down, Nate. Lemme fuckin' ride it, _please_." 

_Oh_. Now this is an exciting turn of events, and Murderface vibrates eagerly as Nathan groans,  “Yeah, fuck. Ride me, come on.” 

Murderface may very well be dying from being so turned on, as Nathan sits his ass down on the closed toilet bowl, feet kicking out underneath him, and the porcelain clanks against itself mercilessly as Pickles gets to work. Nathan moans from deep within his throat, and now he’s the one whining up a dirty symphony as Pickles keeps up their hard, fast pace. The bassist can't help but picture it again - Nathan's dark hair wild and in his blown green eyes, black nails digging for dear life into Pickles' thin hips, flushed-red face twisted up in a desperate scowl as he thrusts upwards. Pickles with one hand braced on the wall, the other sweat-slicked on Nathan's beefy shoulder, dreds a wreck and whole body blushing and--

Murderface feels himself getting close, as he ruthlessly jacks into his own hand, hips lifting off the toilet seat as he listens to the two of them go at each other. Pickles’ moans, Nathan’s grunts, the porcelain clanking, the stall shaking him to his core. He only inches closer, free fist in his mouth to suppress any noise, as Pickles gasps,  “Oh gahd, Nate, 'm g-gettin’ close...'m gonna c-c-caahhhmm—“ 

“Fuck! Fuck, ffffuuuck,” Nathan snarls,  voice breaking off into the death growl again. “Cum for me, fucking _do it_ -“ 

Pickles squeaks, and the quick, loud squelching of Nathan no doubt jacking the drummer off tips Murderface over into his own release. His jizz pours over his fist, teeth gritting together - next to him, Pickles whimpers and whines as he finishes, and him cumming must send the frontman over the edge. Nathan groans desperately, gasping for air to fill his gigantic lungs as Murderface watches the bottoms of his legs shake violently. 

“Ohhhhh, Pickles,” Nathan huffs, still short on breath, and Murderface feels completely fucked as he runs his clean hand through his own hair. Holy fucking shit. He really just did that - just jacked off to his friends fucking each other in a bar bathroom, and he feels as disgusting as he does satisfied. 

“Nate’n,” Pickles coos, and their panting mixes together in the air. “I love you, babe.” 

Murderface’s blood runs cold, face twisting back into bitter jealousy, especially when Nathan murmurs gently, “I fucking love you so much, Pickles.” 

The self-disgust that was already brewing in his stomach mixed with the agonizing heartbreak - he’s of course used to Pickles loving literally anyone else but himself, but hearing it outloud never fails to fuck him up. He needs to get out of this stall - luckily, Nathan fishes their respective jeans off the ground and they start getting dressed. 

“How’re my dreds?” Pickles asks, as the stall door finally creaks open and the two of them walk over to the mirrors. “Aw, shit. Heh, I look like I just fuckin’ took a foot-long monster cock.” 

“Yeah, you do. But it’s a good look on you,” Nathan chuckles, and then of course they kiss again because they’re pathetic and in love, and then the door to the bathroom squeaks open. Murderface waits for it to fall shut, and then counts to twenty before he hesitantly creeps out. He checks the damage in the stall next to his - there’s not a trace of evidence that 2/5 of Dethklok was just fucking each other’s brains out in there, besides the empty lube packet on the ground. He huffs, washing the jizz of his hand, before he inconspicuously sneaks out of the bathroom. 

When he gets back to their table, Toki and Skwisgaar are sitting there - the brunette is back to doing shots, Skwisgaar looks very smug with himself as he stretches back against his seat. God, he doesn’t even want to know what they just did to each other. He’s had enough knowledge about his bandmates’ sex lives for several lifetimes. Speaking of which, Pickles and Nathan are sitting there too, digging into some appetizers as if they weren’t just dicking down in the bathroom mere minutes ago. 

“Oh, Williams, there you ams,” Skwisgaar smirks, raising a light eyebrow. “Where’s did youse sneak off tos?” 

Nathan raises an eyebrow, looking up from the nachos his face had been stuffed in, “Hmmpfh?” 

Pickles looks surprised too, as Murderface grudgingly takes his seat and refuses eye contact. “I thaght you guys were....y’know. Havin’ a celebratory threeway, or whatever.” 

Skwisgaar guffaws, as Toki chokes on the shot he was pounding back. The brunette giggles, vodka dripping into his mustaches, “Ja rights! He ams too much of a babies to gets de gay with us.” 

“The offors still stands if you ever gets the balls for it,” Skwisgaar winks at him, and Murderface doesn’t even have the strength to react past unenthusiastically flicking up his middle finger. 

“So,” Nathan swallows down the nachos in his mouth - which, is not the only thing he’s swallowed around today, and the thought makes Murderface put his face into his hands. “If you weren’t with them, uh. Where were you?” 

He looks up tiredly, wondering if he should expose them. But...he sneaks a peek at Pickles, who offers him an easy, crooked grin, and his brutal heart fucking beats just a little bit more in his chest. Fuck. Maybe it’s because he just came really hard, but he’s not in the mood for confrontation tonight. He got off, they got off - he’d let it lie. Until he can use it for blackmail, that is, but no need to worry about that now. 

“I went off and fucked schome bar chick! Really big titsch, fat assch. Which anschwers the question of our earlier debate - both. Both assch and titsch reign schupreme.” 

Nobody feels like calling his bullshit, for once. Maybe because they all just got some type of sexual release - fleetingly, Murderface thinks that maybe things would've been easier if they'd all just went at it together, but the thought horrifies him and is instantly banished from his head. Until the next time he jacks off, that is. Skwisgaar merely smirks, and shrugs a shoulder, “It ams trues. Can nevors go wrongs with both.” 

“I still say ass,” Nathan rumbles, as Pickles wipes a little bit of stray nacho cheese off the frontman’s chin. He huffs, leveling his drummer with a fond look - their eyes meet, faces soften, Pickles’ thumb still on his chin. God, they really are in love, aren’t they. Gay. 

“Of coursch you'd pick assch,” Murderface snorts, and he grabs their nachos before digging in. They owe him that, at the very least. 

**Author's Note:**

> polyklok sequel eventually ;)


End file.
